


Let's Go, OzQrow!

by LuxInvictus



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Happy, Caught in the Act, Characters Playing Pokemon GO, Established Relationship, Fall of Beacon? What Fall of Beacon?, Humor, I Love Ozpin and Qrow, I Love Pokemon GO, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Secret hobbies, Sex on Furniture, Shameless Smut, Spanking, This Fic Is A Wacky Love Letter to Both, boys being dumb, cheesy pickup lines, cloqwork, lots of foreplay, mentions of pet play, ozqrow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxInvictus/pseuds/LuxInvictus
Summary: Qrow Branwen, the best top-secret highly-trained super spy in Remnant, has a secret. Y'see, he loves to play this scroll game called Pokemon GO. Tai got him hooked on it, and now he can't stop playing. He could if he wanted to, he just doesn't want to, okay? Okay. Problem is, he's also...doing stuff with Ozpin, his new whatchamacallit. Sexy stuff. With his boss with benefits. He'd like to evolve their relationship into 'boyfriends,' but what if classy, sophisticated Oz finds out he plays this nerdy game? What would he think? Actually, Oz is never finding out. NEVER.Ozpin, Headmaster of Vale's prestigious Beacon Academy, has a silly little secret. He loves the scroll game Pokemon GO quite a lot. So many cute new digital friends to help him through the administrative drudgery of the day! What a gift. Usually he would be quite up up front and open about his...eccentricities, but this is a special case. Somehow, he has managed to start maybe-dating Qrow Branwen, his maybe-boyfriend, and well. Who knows what popular, handsome, definitely-not-nerdy-at-all Qrow would think of Ozpin playing a silly game like this? No, better that he never finds out. Ever.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. A Wild Ozpin Appears!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CocksAndClocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/gifts).



> Happy generic winter holiday, Cali of CocksAndClocks! 
> 
> Prompt: Oh no!
> 
> I...kind of played fast and loose with the prompt, but I do hope you still like it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow and Ozpin both indulge in their favorite hobby, and almost get caught by each other playing the game.

Qrow Branwen is a stone cold badass (if he does say so himself).

He can hack the head off a Beowolf with a single swing of his scythe. Gank a geist with one shot to its fugly little face. Once, he even took on a swarming horde of Grimm and rogue Atlesian Androids and came out without a single scratch on him.

(And yeah, okay, he had some help from Jimmy and Glynda and a few of the students, but that’s beside the point.)

The point is, he’s a stone cold badass. Professional huntsman extraordinaire. Top secret super spy in a top secret organization taking on the evilest evil to ever evil. And stone cold badass professional evil-fighting huntsman spies don’t play dumb little scroll games where you throw balls at weird looking monster things to collect them and train them.

Not where anyone can see them, at least.

“Get in the goddamn ball, you little shit,” Qrow growls at the Pikachu on the screen as he hunkers down on his haunches beside the fountain in the Beacon courtyard. Cold water splashes his face, making his hair flat and wet on one side and dribbling down the back of his neck beneath his shirt to make him shiver, but he doesn’t care. This is the first Pikachu he’s seen, and it’s already busted out of four of the red and white balls even though he’s chucked just as many of the red berries at it. He’s not leaving until this thing is his.

Maybe it’s because he has at least ten mini bottles worth of cheap booze buzzing in his system (and hey, sometimes those mini bottles are the only things he can find this early in the afternoon to fuel his tank), but Qrow is having a hard time remembering why he let Tai of all people get him hooked on this infuriating game in the first place. Blah blah blah “It’s fun, Qrow!” something something “It’ll get your ass out of a bar for longer than five minutes” yada yada “The girls love it.”

And damn it if that last part hadn’t done him in. He’s a sucker for the But FamilyTM argument and apparently everyone knows it.

He’d still given them a hard time about it though, because he’s Qrow fucking Branwen, and Qrow fucking Branwen gives everyone a hard time. It’s just what he does.

“Pokey-man Go?” he’d said, deliberately butchering the name just to see Rosebud and Firecracker twitch and die a little on the inside while he embarrassed them in front of Cat Chick and Ice Queen 2.0. “That game with the yellow rat thing that shoots lighting out of its ass? Yeah, hard pass. Don’t wanna cramp my style, y’know.”

While Ruby had insisted that the yellow rat thing is actually a mouse and it’s called a Pikachu and it shoots the lightning from its cheeks, not it’s butt, Uncle Qrow, you’re being mean, Yang had just smirked and commented that it’s okay, not everyone is cool enough to hang with them. See ya later, old man. And off the four of them went to go hunt down something called a Po-nee-tah, leaving him spluttering in their dust.

So here he sits, getting more drenched by the second, all to catch a goddamn Pikachu, because Qrow fucking Branwen is so too cool enough to hang. Even if Team RWBY and Tai are the only ones who know it. He’ll keep his secret coolness a secret and take his secret coolness to his grave.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” he mutters at the scroll as he sends another berry zinging toward the Pikachu. It flips happily in the air as sparkles surround it and heart shaped bubbles burst over its head. “Yeah, if you really love me you’ll get in the damn ball.” Twirling it the way Yang showed him, he flings it toward the edge of the screen in a curve ball and hits right in the center of the big yellow circle. A ‘nice’ throw, yes! It better get caught this time or he’s quitting, ‘cause he’s running low on balls and this whole busting-out thing is getting old.

(Like hell he’s quitting. The fountain is a Pokéstop, so if he runs out of balls, he can just get more and hope the Pikachu doesn’t run away in the time it takes to spin.)

One roll…

Two rolls…

Three rolls…

Stars pop up over the ball. _Gotcha! Pikachu was caught_!

“Fucking finally!” he shouts, jumping up on wobbly legs and pumping his fist drunkenly in the air.

Right into something warm and solid.

“Ouch,” Ozpin says mildly, rubbing his cheek like all his Aura and magic don't make him the skinny human equivalent of a tank, and Qrow’s wimpy little swat wasn't the equivalent of a fly splatting into a windshield. As usual, he’s decked to the nines in his fancy green suit with matching scarf despite the heat of the afternoon. “Oh, hello Qrow. I’m, ah, I’m afraid I didn’t see you there. My apologies.” He folds his arms behind his back and flashes Qrow a rueful smile.

Qrow makes a a strangled little choking sound as his booze-addled brain glitches to a halt. Shit, it’s Ozpin. Of course it’s Ozpin, because Qrow’s luck has always been, and will forever be, shaped like shit. (Hurray Semblance, you useless piece of junk.)

Not that seeing Ozpin is objectively shitty — they wouldn’t be dating or whatever the hell you’d call this thing they have together if that were the case — but still. Oz is not on the short list of people who know about Qrow’s embarrassingly nerdy new hobby, and he’d like to keep it that way, thanks. Oz already has plenty of reasons not to whatever-this-is with Qrow, if he’d bother to think about them for a couple seconds. Like hell is Qrow gonna hand him another one. Especially one that makes him look like an immature dork.

Willing away the incriminating blush starting to burn the tips of his ears, he quickly presses the power button on the screen to hide his shame and forces himself to adopt the relaxed slouch that, by now, is basically his trademark.

“Hey there, Oz,” he says, injecting as much cheerful I’m-totally-not-hiding-from-people-and-playing-children’s-games-ha ha-what-are-you-talking-about nonchalance into his voice as he can. “I was just. Uh…” He trails off, fingers twitching like he can magically pull some marginally believable crock of half-baked bullshit out of the air to explain why he’s lurking around Beacon on a day he technically shouldn’t be here.

Next to a fountain that is most definitely not a Pokéstop.

Not that Qrow would know anything about that.

He shifts his weight, shoes scuffing on the pavement. “I was just…” His fingers drum along the edges of his scroll, and his booze-addled brain boots back up. Bingo! “I was just looking for my scroll,” he says with a little too much enthusiasm, waggling it helpfully in Ozpin’s face. “I dropped it, but now I found it, so. Yeah.” Mentally he winces and kicks himself in the ass for being so obvious. Get it in gear, top secret highly-trained super spy. This is just pathetic.

Apparently Oz is in the mood for some half-baked bullshit, though, because he doesn’t even bat an eye at Qrow’s flimsy excuse of a fib.

“So I see,” he says, staring cross-eyed at the scroll still hovering inches from his nose. Unfolding an arm, he gently bats it aside with one of those long, graceful fingers of his that Qrow absolutely does not have inappropriate fantasies about sucking on and — yeah. Not going there right now. “What brings you to Beacon this fine day? I don’t recall having a meeting scheduled or a need to debrief, unless I’ve forgotten about it.” He gives a self-deprecating chuckle, fiddling with the silver cross pin on his scarf for a moment before lacing both hands together at his stomach, thumbs twiddling together.

Qrow snorts. “Yeah right. Like Glynda would let you forget about something important.” He nudges Oz playfully in the ribs with an elbow, earning a soft but genuine laugh that he files away in the part of his mind where he keeps all the little moments when Oz acts like an actual human being and not ye olde stoic jigsaw puzzle of ancient cosmic power. All those little moments that, as far as he knows, are his and his alone.

“Nah, I’m just checking up on Ruby and Yang,” he continues. “See if they’re studying hard or hardly studying, y’know? Keep ‘em on their toes.” And yay, that’s a plausible excuse he can actually enact. It’s almost like he’s good at his job or something. High five, Agent Branwen.

“Ah, yes, of course. Well, don’t let me keep you,” Ozpin says, reaching out to give Qrow’s shoulder a brief squeeze. Then, with a smile and a whiff of something woodsy and musky and floral he’s brushing by Qrow and off to wherever he’s going, those fancy shoes of his hardly making any sound on the stone path. As he walks he pulls his own scroll out of his back pocket and curls his body around it, fingers tapping at the screen.

Blinking, Qrow watches him go until he vanishes behind another building. Huh. That was kinda weird. Usually when he and Oz meet by chance, they chat for a while and then make plans to get together at a later date. In a nudge nudge, wink wink kinda way. But hey, his secret nerdy hobby is safe from his…whatever Ozpin is to him aside from ‘sexy hot boss with a surprising amount of benefits,’ so he’ll count that as a win.

Besides, it’s a school day, so Oz is probably just busy doing responsible headmaster stuff. As much as Qrow is all about that nudge nudge, wink wink, responsible headmaster stuff is technically more important in the grand scheme of things. And the scheme of their things is pretty damn grand. (Thanks a bunch, Salem. If you’d just crap out and die, that’d be great.)

Shrugging it off, Qrow turns his scroll back on and spins the fountain Pokéstop again. Yay, more balls and berries and a gift bag thingy he can send to one of the girls — right before he wipes the floor with them at that fighting game they like so much. Visions of victory fill his head as he heads off toward the student dorms by way of the route with the most Pokéstops. Not only will he get more stuff, he might even dry off some and not have to explain why half of his shirt and one side of his head are soaking wet.

By the time he surprises the shit out of Ruby and Yang at the dorms, he’s caught at least seven new Pokémon he might be able to convince them to trade him for something cooler, and has almost forgotten all about running into Ozpin.

—

Ozpin, however, has certainly not forgotten about running into Qrow.

Fifty feet away from the fountain, he slumps against a wall as soon as he’s sure he’s out of sight, scroll cradled against his chest. The stone is cool and smooth against his back, thanks in large part to the shade that’s also helping him hide. Closing his eyes for a moment, he draws a deep breath through his nose and lets it out at a slow, even pace until all the tension from the last few minutes drains from his body.

Oh dear, that was close. Much too close.

Under normal circumstances, Ozpin would have been completely delighted to see Qrow on a day that they had not originally planned to meet. It had still been a pleasant surprise, of course. He could never be upset about bumping into a friend — quite literally in this case — but. Well. It was simply unexpected.

And almost a disaster.

At least Qrow had been too busy searching for his lost scroll to notice that Ozpin had lacked both of his usual accessories. Small mercy that his cane can retract and fit snugly in his pocket, where it currently rests, a reassuring weight against his thigh should his leg pain him enough to need it. If he must, he can hang it from the crook of his arm by its handle. Though it’s rather awkward to carry it that way, he makes a mental note to do so to in future to avoid arousing any further suspicion.

But alas, the same cannot be said for a mug of hot cocoa. It’s been over three months, and he has yet to master the art of throwing a curve ball whilst holding something else in his free hand. Regrettably, cocoa has thus far been uninvited on his Pokémon hunting adventures.

Ah yes, that reminds him. Pulling his scroll away from his chest, a comfortable warmth fills him when he sees an adorable Pikachu staring back at him, flicking its ears and heart-shaped tail. Wonderful. He’d been worried that he hadn’t properly tapped on it while beating a retreat from Qrow as hastily as his dignity, and the appearance of doing nothing untoward, would allow.

After feeding the cute creature a Pinap berry — he’s so close to being able to evolve a Raichu, how exciting — he selects a Great Ball, twirls it until it sparkles, and, once the circle is the proper size, flings it in a perfect arc. Another ‘Excellent’ throw, and extra experience points and stardust for capturing the Pokémon with a single ball. Oh yes, and extra candies. Only ten more to go now. Beaming, he bounces lightly on his toes as he taps through the post-capture screens to return to the map. He really is rather good at this game, if he does say so himself.

If only he could share it with Qrow. Ah, what fun they could have together.

But that would involve actually telling Qrow that he plays this game. The very thought makes his stomach gurgle and churn the way it does when he’s had too much hot cocoa and not enough actual food (which tends to happen quite often).

And that’s mostly because he has no earthly idea how Qrow will react. If there’s anything on Remnant Ozpin hates more than Brussels sprouts, it’s not knowing the definitive answer to an important question before he asks it, or at least having a strong theory well-backed by pertinent evidence.

Especially for a question about something as important as their fledgling relationship.

It’s been almost almost six months since he and Qrow finally finished the last steps of their decade-long dance of mutual attraction and, ah, taken up with each other, so to speak. Ozpin will gladly eat a heaping helping of disgusting little devil cabbages before he does anything to jeopardize what they have together.

Even if he’s not quite sure how, precisely, to define what it is they have together. They’re certainly intimate, though perhaps not quite enough to use terms like ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner.’ Qrow once facetiously referred to Ozpin as a ‘boss with a surprising amount of benefits’ (he had also used a few more words in his description, but Ozpin can’t apply words like ‘sexy’ and ‘hot’ to himself without turning an interesting shade of red), and he supposes that will have to do for now.

No, this silly little hobby will be his silly little secret, just between himself, and Glynda, because Glynda really does know everything that goes on at this school, and, of course, the hundreds of like-minded Ozma-soul voices in his head. For a remarkable change of pace, they all agree that this silly little hobby is something Ozpin should probably keep secret from his…um… _friend_.

What Qrow doesn’t know…

Speaking of, Qrow must be halfway to the dorms by now to see Miss Rose and Miss Xiao Long, meaning it’s safe for Ozpin to leave his hiding place. Humming a cheerful tune under his breath, he pushes off from the wall and heads back toward the courtyard to spin the Pokéstop he’d been about to spin when Qrow suddenly popped up out of nowhere, basking in the sunlight warming his hands and face. He’s almost close enough when the image of a yellow and white speckled egg fills his screen.

 _Oh?_ says the text.

“Oh?” Ozpin echoes, breath hitching in excited curiosity. Hatching eggs is one of his favorite parts of the game. The anticipation of not knowing what new little friend is inside, and the exhilaration of the reveal? Utterly delightful. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he reaches out to tap the egg —

— and instead taps Glynda’s icon as it abruptly eclipses the game.

Immediately her scowling face replaces the moment of truth. “ _Where are you_?” she asks in a tone of voice as short as her temper. Across the connection he can hear the dull thwacking sound of her taking out her frustration on some unfortunate inanimate object with her riding crop. Probably while imagining said object is his own head. “ _We were supposed to start going over next year’s budget twenty minutes ago_.”

A sudden coldness sinks into his core. Ah, yes, he does vaguely recall her mentioning as much earlier today, which struck him as odd since she usually handles it herself and just shoves the finished paperwork in front of his face for a perfunctory signature afterward. So he had indeed forgotten about a meeting, as he had suggested to Qrow a few minutes prior. Just not a meeting with Qrow, and therefore not of life-altering importance.

“Hello Glynda,” Ozpin says, mostly to buy himself some time to come up with something suitably dignified and professional as to why he’s out of the office when he should technically be there. He doubts she’d take it well if he tells her he’s been engrossed in the thrill of chasing down a Pikachu while simultaneously earning steps to hatch an egg.

“ _Don’t tell me you’re out playing that — that weird game again_ ,” she says as though she can read his mind. At this point in their professional relationship, he’s half-certain that she can. Telekinesis and telepathy; what a combination.

Ozpin flashes her the serene little smile that he knows is sure to raise her blood pressure by at least ten points. “Very well, I won’t.” Usually he wouldn’t rile her up like this, but really, all this fuss over a budget meeting? More than likely she’s simply upset that he’s outside on this fine day and she’s not (though she could be, if she so wished; there’s no law stating budget meetings cannot be held during a picnic under a tree), and is probably seeking to punish him however she can.

Glynda’s face darkens. The thwacking intensifies. Ozpin is thankful that both she and her riding crop are on the other side of the connection so that the hypothetical punishment cannot become corporal. “ _And do you happen to know when you will be done playing_?” she asks, managing to sound both thoroughly exasperated and infinitely patient all at once. One of her many, many skills, which he has given her many, many chances over the years to hone to perfection.

Before answering, he checks the time on his scroll. Almost 4:30 p.m. He really should be heading back. Besides, there’s hot cocoa in his office. It’s been over an hour since he last had some, and he can feel the beginnings of a sugar-and-caffeine deprivation headache squeezing his temples. Or so he tells himself.

“I am walking toward the tower now,” he promises as he does indeed start walking toward the tower, though he conveniently omits the part where he intends to take the round-about route by all the Pokéstops along the way.

“ _Good_ ,” Glynda snaps. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Then, “ _I should just get a stamp made of your signature so I can do everything myself. I already do almost everything anyway_.”

Ozpin chuckles at that. “And render me obsolete, save as a glorified figurehead? What a profoundly satisfying notion.” He means it, too. If she would but ask, she would receive.

She harrumphs and hangs up on him.

Still chuckling to himself, he turns his attention back to the egg as soon as her icon vanishes and taps it, watching it hatch with baited breath.

A cute brown foxlike creature pops out, waggling its long, fluffy tail and its long, fluffy ears.

“Ah, another Eevee! And it’s a girl, too.” Smiling, he taps through the menu to appraise his new friend. “Oh my, she even has a perfect three-star rating. How wonderful.” It’s his first perfect Pokémon so far, and how fitting that it should be one of his favorites.

He promptly evolves this new Eevee into Espeon using the nickname trick (CP 2490, his strongest yet), then gives her a proper name and preens over her all the way back to the tower.

Her name, of course, is Glynda.

—

Qrow might have forgotten all about randomly running into Oz by the fountain and almost getting caught with his geek flag flying if he doesn’t keep randomly running into him over the next couple of days.

It’s starting to get real annoying.

Not because he doesn’t like running into his sexy hot boyf— BOSS, his sexy hot BOSS, but because he’s had too many close calls with said sexy hot boss almost finding out about his unsexy, un-hot hobby. If sexy boss and unsexy hobby never make each other’s acquaintance, he can die happy. Ish.

Why can’t Oz just stay in his office like a good little desk jockey? More importantly, why is Glynda letting him be a free-range headmaster instead of making him stay in his office like a good little desk jockey? Maybe he should send her some rope so she can tie him to that stupid dick-chair of his so Qrow can get his geek on in peace. Honestly, he’s about ready to do it himself.

Oooh, that gives him lots of fun ideas for the next time they’re able to get together for some nudge nudge, wink wink.

After like, the five-hundredth time Oz just so happens to be hanging around a Pokéstop when Qrow tries to get close enough to spin it, forcing him to make a detour so he doesn’t have to pull an explanation out of his ass as to why he’s been skulking around Beacon, Qrow decides “fuck it” and makes a point to stay away from Beacon as much as he can. Even stops playing the game. Can’t get caught being a geek if you’re not actively being a geek.

Only problem with that strategy is that almost everything he cares about in life (except for liquor) happens to be at Beacon. His nieces, his pals Port and Oobleck, his old stomping grounds and some of the best memories he’s got, and yeah, his — Ozpin. Not to mention that the school campus has the highest concentration of Pokéstops anywhere in Vale, and goddammit why is that even important to him.

Plus, with his probably-gonna-be-permanent sabbatical from Signal, and the radio silence from Salem’s cronies after they got their asses handed to them trying to attack Beacon, he’s got a lot of extra time on his empty hands and nothing much to fill them with except booze bottles.

He lasts about a day.

By then he’s broken his five-day catch and spin streaks and has to start all over again, and damn Tai for getting him hooked on this game. The more he plays the more he wants to play. Kinda like drinking, if he’s being a little too honest with himself here, except this is a happy-yay-the-world-is-great fun times thing and that’s more of a the-world-sucks-and-I-hate-myself coping mechanism thing. He couldn’t Poké-stop if he wanted to, har har, and okay, that’s enough. If he keeps it up, he’ll start sounding like a certain pun-happy brawler.

The day after his self-imposed Pokémon intervention (he really should have known that would fail; interventions never work on him), Qrow is back on his bullshit, hunting down some fish-looking thing he needs for a quest that’s out by the student launch site. Beacon’s loneliest Pokéstop. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere. The only one not surrounded by at least ten Pokéstops. No one ever comes out here.

So naturally Ozpin is here too, cane hanging from one arm, nose stuck in his scroll, humming a jaunty little tune as he ambles along the cliff side like he doesn’t have a care in the world that he’s Poke-blocking Qrow.

Qrow glowers at him from behind some bushes downwind and just out of spinning range, jaws stiff from grinding his teeth. Pointy branches and prickly leaves poke his face and neck as the morning sun beats down on him, making him hot and itchy. Fucking Semblance. This has to be its fault. No way this just randomly keeps happening. Why can’t he be a good luck charm instead? Or at least neutral on the luck front? Is that too much to fuckin’ ask?

Grumbling under his breath, he swats the offending branch aside and mentally wills Oz to just leave already. Or accidentally step on a launch pad and go flying, see how it feels. Assuming he already doesn’t do that for shits and giggles. Hey, Oz is great and all, one of Qrow’s absolute favorite people, but Oz is also really damn weird. In a good way, but still weird. Who knows what a guy like him gets up to for fun.

“Oho! Found you.” A few feet away Oz bounces lightly in place as he taps away at the screen with renewed vigor. Sunlight sparkles off his glasses and the cross pin on his scarf, stabbing Qrow in his shameful creepy stalker face. His scowl intensifies as he shields his eyes as best as he can and squints through the pain, determined to see what the hell Oz is up to.

A couple seconds later Oz makes a cute little burble that warms the cockles of Qrow’s cold black heart and holds out his scroll like he wants to kiss it or something. “Ah, yes, so lovely. Another one of my favorites.”

From his hiding spot Qrow can’t make out what’s on the screen, but whatever it is, it sure is making Oz happy. He’s kinda getting jealous over here.

More tapping, more happy noises, then Oz closes his scroll and tucks it in a waistcoat pocket. Adjusting his hold on his cane, he twists his back, stretches his arms over his head with catlike grace (and whoops, there goes a rush of blood gushing downstairs. Come back, Qrow needs it for his brain), rolls his shoulders, taps his cane on the ground twice, and finally — finally — fucks off.

Qrow watches him practically skip down the hill, waiting until he’s sure Ozpin is gone before he grumbles and grumps and slouches his way within range of the Pokéstop.

When he checks his radar after spinning the stop, the fish-looking thing is gone. Because of course it is. Bad Luck Strikes Again: The Official Story of Qrow Branwen’s Sad Little Life.

It’s nine-thirty a.m. and he needs a drink.

He huffs out a sigh, raking a hand through his hair as he starts trudging down the hill in Ozpin’s wake. That sexy little shit is lucky Qrow lo—ikes him so much, else he’d be really pissed. Oh well, it’s just a dumb game anyway. This thing he’s got with Oz is way more important.

But still. What was he doing all the way out here? Playing hooky?

Or…wait.

Wait —

A thought whacks Qrow upside the head so hard he lurches to a halt, his highly-trained top-secret super spy senses tingling.

Wait a second —

Ozpin has been popping up every time Qrow tries to spin a Pokéstop, right? This right here is a Pokéstop. Ain’t nothing else out here, no reason for Oz to be bumming around getting all happy about something on his scroll.

Unless —

_What if Ozpin plays this dumb game too?_

Qrow’s brain basically explodes as his whole paradigm shifts real hard.

His prim, proper, and dignified boss, playing Pokémon Go?

It might be more likely than he thinks.

And the more he thinks about it, the more he’s definitely almost maybe sure that Ozpin probably plays. Only one way to find out.

Qrow gazes in the direction Oz vanished, head tilted to the side, fingers absently drumming against his thigh. To snoop, or not to snoop? That is the question.

A second later he pockets his scroll, takes a running leap off the edge of the cliff, and shifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Also, I am more than willing to chop this behemoth story into additional chapters, but I need more silly Pokemon battle puns for the chapter titles. If you have suggestions, let me know! :)
> 
> ~
> 
> For more Ozpin and Cloqwork content, check out my Tumblr @coffee-queen448! <3


	2. Qrow Used Cheesy Pickup Line! It's Super Effective!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content ahead, folks!

Ozpin sighs himself down the hallway to the tower elevator bank and presses the service button with the handle of his cane, glad the faculty meeting is finally over. Not that he has much to look forward to except paperwork, more paperwork, and, oh yes, even more paperwork. An underwhelming way to spend his Friday evening, to be sure, but such is life when one is the headmaster of a prestigious huntsman training academy.

The doors slide open with a crisp swish and he steps inside, pressing the button for the top floor. They swish shut again and the elevator gives a soft ding as it begins to rise, leaving him staring at his own solitary reflection in the mirrored steel. A cool weight presses down inside chest even as the elevator gains height. He’d rather hoped Qrow would call and arrange a different sort of meeting than the one he just sat through, provide a pleasant and much welcome distraction from his duties, but alas, no such luck.

The sole bright point of his evening is that for some strange reason his office is a Pokéstop, and he will at least be able to spin it from time to time while slogging through the administrative drudgery, even if the only company he will have is his newly evolved Milotic and other cute digital friends. A far cry from Qrow’s magnetic presence, but a small consolation nevertheless.

The elevator chimes as it skims to a halt, and Ozpin clears his throat to disrupt his increasingly melancholy train of thought. It won’t due to dwell on what could have been. Besides, Qrow probably has more scintillating plans for the weekend than entertaining Ozpin, and Ozpin can’t begrudge him that.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his sagging posture, he strides inside his office, the short carpet cushioning his steps. Much better than the metal floors that had been here before Salem’s faction had attacked, which he used as an excuse to remodel a bit. Beyond the glass windows crimson throbs at the horizon, melting into a rich ultramarine speckled with the first stars of the evening. Wispy pink and white clouds brush across the pale broken face of the moon, still just a faint presence in the early evening sky, as the sunset paints the office in pale pastels.

The gorgeous view soothes him, unwinding the knots of tension in his chest. He lets out a little sigh as he settles his cane against his desk and reaches for the carafe of hot cocoa to pour himself a generous mugful. Perhaps this won’t be such a terrible evening after all, administrative drudgery notwithstanding. If only he had some mini marsh—

“Hey there, Oz.”

“Hello, Qrow,” Ozpin says once he peels himself off the ceiling and coaxes his frozen blood to start flowing again. Spinning in place, he turns to see Qrow lounging against one of the pillars, his back and one foot pressed against it, arms crossed loosely in front of him. “I, ah, I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.” It occurs to him that this is the second time this week that he’s said as much, and this time he has no excuse. Perhaps an intensive training regimen is in order lest he lose his edge. It won’t do for a huntsman of his caliber to be taken by surprise so often, even if the one doing so is an ally.

Pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger to regain focus, Ozpin reaches for the carafe and resumes pouring himself a cup of cocoa. “What brings you here?” he asks to regain some semblance of control of the situation. Warmth seeps into his hands and fingers as he wraps them around the mug and raises it to his lips for a sip. The familiar bittersweet taste grounds him, and he manages a self-assured smile at Qrow.

Well. What he hopes is a self-assured smile.

Qrow gives a slow, languid shrug. “Eh, nothin’ much,” he says, picking at a snag in his sleeve with a fingernail, not quite meeting Ozpin’s gaze. “Just out hunting a rare Pokémon that’s around here somewhere.”

Ozpin perks up at that. “Oh really? Which one?”

He has his scroll out and on and is about to tap the icon for the game when Qrow barks out a laugh.

“Ha! I knew it!” he, well, crows, pointing a finger at Ozpin, mouth slanted up in a triumphant smirk. “You do play Pokémon Go!”

Ozpin freezes, thumb hovering over the screen.

Oh.

Oh no.

This is…oh dear.

An incriminating flush burns his cheeks as he slips the scroll back in his waistcoat pocket and ducks his gaze down to the steaming brown liquid in his mug. “I — I don’t know what you —” He cuts himself off before he can blurt out anymore half-formed protests because it’s more than obvious that he does, in fact, know what Qrow is talking about, and denying it will do no good. He fidgets under Qrow’s scrutiny, fingernails tapping a distressed rhythm against the ceramic.

Deep down, he had feared that this intimacy between them would end badly. Not only because the patchwork quilt of memories wrapped around his mind is filled with failed relationships, of loneliness and pain where the Ozma-souls had sought companionship and comfort, but because…well. Qrow is Qrow. Roguishly handsome, physically strong, and delightfully crass in a way that manages to charm most people he meets (with a few notable exceptions, most of them from Atlas).

Ozpin is…not any of those things. And so it remains a mystery as to why Qrow, who could have anyone he wants, wants Ozpin, of all people.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he wanted Ozpin, past tense. And all because of a silly game.

But wait a moment.

“If you know what Pokémon Go is,” Ozpin says slowly, fingers stilling as he raises his eyes to squint at Qrow over the rims of his glasses —

The self-satisfied smirk slides off Qrow’s face.

“— and you are familiar enough with the mechanics of the game to know that my office is a Pokéstop —”

Qrow’s face turns the same pasty white color as Ozpin’s mug.

“ — then you must play as well,” he finishes, drawing himself up to his full (and, if he does say so himself, rather impressive) height even as Qrow seems to shrink in on himself, red eyes wide and staring at Ozpin like he’s an innocent little deer and Ozpin is the car who’s headlights have pinned him in place.

Then the incident at the fountain a few days ago plays through his mind in a new light. Qrow hadn’t been searching for his lost scroll as he’d claimed at the time, he had most certainly been playing Pokémon.

Oh, what an amusing misunderstanding this all is!

Swallowing the laughter suddenly bubbling up in his throat, Ozpin presses the rim of his mug to his lips to hide the wide grin threatening to split his face in half. “It would seem that we both play this silly little game, but for some reason were too embarrassed to admit it to each other.”

Qrow gives a strangled-sounding laugh and untangles one arm to rub the back of his neck. “I guess I didn’t want you thinking I was too immature to date, or some shit,” he says, the corners of his own mouth twitching upward in a self-deprecating smile. “Crazy, I know, but there it is.” He shrugs again, this time in a ‘whaddya gonna do about it’ sort of way.

Ozpin’s budding smile withers before it can fully bloom. “You honestly thought I would break things off with you over something you do for fun?” he asks, stung that Qrow would think him shallow enough to do such a thing.

Qrow quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, well, you obviously thought the same thing,” he points out, crossings his arms loosely over his chest. “Should have seen your face back there.”

Qrow stares at Ozpin.

Ozpin takes a sip from his mug and stares gamely back.

It occurs to him that this entire farce could have been avoided had they simply trusted each other with the truth, and not been so afraid of what the other would think of them, all in a misguided attempt to present themselves in the best light.

It’s sort of sweet, in a way.

But also profoundly stupid.

Swallowing his mouthful of cocoa, Ozpin schools his expression into one of stern seriousness that wouldn’t be out of place when addressing the entire school, or the Vale council. “We,” he announces with as much dignity he can muster (and at this point, neither of them have much of that left), “are both idiots.”

Qrow snorts at that, lips spasming around a smile. Ozpin giggles around the rim of his mug before he can stop himself, and suddenly they’re both laughing so hard Ozpin’s ribs hurt and his breath comes in wheezy gasps.

“We’re so fuckin’ stupid,” Qrow somehow finds the breath to howl, doubled over and clutching his middle. His face is as red as his eyes, which are currently squeezed shut in mirthful crescents.

Ozpin can only nod emphatically as his body quakes and his eyes tear up, unable to form actual words. Cocoa spills from his mug and dribbles down the front of his scarf and waistcoat, but it’s fine; both will clean. Everything is absolutely fine.

Except for his knees, which have become wobbly and weak from the force of his laughter. If he doesn’t sit down soon, he’ll collapse in an undignified heap on the floor and probably won’t be able to get back up again without help. Swiping away the wetness from the corners of his eyes, he sets down his mug and rounds the desk to sink into his chair as gracefully as his shaking limbs will allow. The cold metal of the seat and back help cool the heat of his amusement. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out in a contented sigh and tips his head back, fingers tugging to loosen his scarf.

“Doing okay there, Oz?” Qrow asks from across the room, plucking at his own shirt as though trying to calm himself down as well. The sun has fully set now, the office illuminated only by the faint green glow of the translucent ceiling, above which the gears of the clock tower softly twist and grind.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Ozpin shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair so he can remove his soiled waist coat, plucking out his scroll from where it’s nestled inside one of the pockets. “Although I can’t help but wonder what rare Pokémon you were searching for in my office.” Alas, whatever it was is probably gone by now, so there is little point in loading the game to look for it.

Qrow opens his mouth to answer, then tilts his head and smirks, eyes raking down Ozpin’s torso and back up again in open appreciation. Even in the low light of the room, the heat in his gaze is nearly palpable.

Ozpin can’t help but shudder as heat rises in his blood, feeling suddenly exposed and transparent. Riling the other man up was hardly his intention in removing two of his usual three layers, but the way Qrow is now looking at him — like Ozpin is a feast and Qrow is a starving man — he can’t argue with the results.

It looks like he’ll have living, breathing, red-blooded company this evening after all.

-

Qrow’s still all hot and bothered from laughing harder than he has in a long-ass time when he notices that Oz has practically undressed himself. Heat twists in his chest and zings to his crotch and he gets all hot and bothered in all sorts of new, exciting ways, ways that are way more exciting than feeling like a dipshit over the whole dumb Pokémon debacle.

And hey, that gives him an idea. Maybe a dumbass idea, but it might get them both real laid real fast.

As long as Oz says yes and all. But the way Oz is watching Qrow watch him, amber eyes wide and lips slightly parted, Qrow’s pretty sure it’s a done deal the second he asks.

Before he can overthink it (y’know, the thing that kind of got them both into this mess in the first place), Qrow pushes off from the pillar and swaggers toward Oz, injecting extra sass into his hips for extra pizazz, all while staring him dead in the eye. Ozpin blinks back, eyes widening with each step Qrow takes, gaze locked on his hips as though hypnotized, a pink tinge flushing his pale cheeks. The closer Qrow gets, the faster his pulse sprints and the more his hands ache with the need to touch Oz, to pull him close, to kiss him, taste him.

Seconds that feel like centuries later, Qrow stops beside Ozpin’s chair, hands propped lazily on his hips, grinning down at Ozpin with bared teeth like a predator that has found his prey.

Prey that’s more than willing, if the look on Oz’s face is any kind of hint. Breath audibly hitching, he squirms in his seat and gazes up at Qrow, legs parting slightly as his pink tongue darts across his full bottom lip.

Qrow swallows the moan that tries to punch out his throat, an electric surge of energy pulsing through his groin, making his cock throb and strain against the tight press of his pants. Fuck. It really isn’t fair what such a simple gesture like that does to him. Oz is a fuckin’ tease and he doesn’t even know it.

To throw the little shit off balance, Qrow shifts his predatory smirk into a friendly smile and winks down at him. Oz returns the smile almost instinctively, though it’s questioning and more than a little hesitant, like he’s wondering what the hell Qrow is up to.

Good.

Then like lightning Qrow strikes, grabbing the arm of the chair and spinning Oz around to face him, latching onto the other arm as soon as it’s in reach and planting a knee between Ozpin’s spread thighs.

Oz gasps and flinches back a bit, but he’s trapped between Qrow and the back of his chair with nowhere to go, no way to escape. Just where Qrow wants him. Still clutching his scroll, he presses it to his chest and swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing above the loosened folds of his scarf. “Qrow?” he asks, a little trembly and kind of deeper than normal, but the hoarse note of arousal ringing in his voice and the growing bulge in his trousers tells Qrow that Ozpin is definitely interested in whatever he has planned.

Encouraged, Qrow leans in closer, so close his lips just barely graze the soft, warm skin of Ozpin’s ear. “It’s you, Oz,” he says, dropping his tone to a honeyed rumble as he nuzzles a kiss into the juncture of Ozpin’s neck and jaw. The scent of Ozpin’s cologne washes over him, something floral and sweet and _green_ with notes of citrus and juniper and sandalwood mixed with the other man’s own heady musk. Intoxicated, Qrow breathes in the smell of him, light-headed with desire (or maybe because most of the blood in his body is now below his waist), hands clenching around the cool metal arms of the chair. Inwardly he frowns. These might get in the way of his plans.

Beneath him Ozpin shivers and moans softly in his throat, a needy little sound that pushes more precome out of Qrow’s already aching cock to stain the front of his pants. “I…am what?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, fidgeting with his scroll like he wants to get rid of it but doesn’t know where to put it.

And oh yeah, Qrow was going somewhere with this. Right. Get it in gear, lover boy.

Squeezing the arms of the chair to ground himself back in the moment, he yanks Ozpin’s scroll out of his hands and chucks it onto the desk. It hits the thick glass surface with a soft thud and skids to a halt near the edge. Yay, problem solved. Now back to the good stuff.  
  
Before Oz can protest the rough treatment of his scroll, Qrow shoves himself out of Ozpin’s personal space, grabs him by the scarf, and pulls him up out of the chair into a kiss.

Ozpin’s yelp morphs into a moan as their lips meet. Hands fisting in the front of Qrow’s shirt, his eyes flutter closed, long silver lashes fanning over his cheeks as he relaxes into Qrow’s arms.

Cinching his arms around Oz’s slender waist to tug him closer, Qrow nibbles playfully on that plump bottom lip of his and then sweeps the tip of his tongue over it, letting his body ask the question for him.

Ozpin moans again and obediently parts his lips, uncurling his hands to smooth his palms across Qrow’s chest with small, light touches that make his nerve endings tingle like they’ve been shocked. Growling hungrily in his throat, Qrow plunges his tongue into the wet heat of Oz’s mouth, tracing over his teeth and brushing his tongue against Ozpin’s. He tastes like hot chocolate and vanilla lip balm, and the sweet cloud of his cologne wafting around them leaves Qrow almost dizzy with want and a throbbing, growing need.

But wait, no, he still has to deploy his zingers while he still has semi-functioning brain cells —

With one final swirl of tongue against tongue he catches Oz’s lip in his teeth and forces himself to pull away, panting as hot throbs of pleasure ignite his blood. Okay, time to focus. Pressing an apologetic peck to the side of his mouth for breaking the kiss, he noses along Ozpin’s jaw back up to nibble and lick along the shell of his ear, reveling in the shiver that wracks Ozpin’s lean body.

“You are the ultra-rare Pokémon I came up here to catch,” he husks out in the sexiest bedroom voice he can muster. And as turned on as he is right now, in his unbiased opinion it’s pretty damn sexy.

He practically feels Ozpin’s brain glitch out. Stilling in Qrow’s arms, he yanks his head back to squint at him in barely disguised what-the-fuck, chest heaving in quick, staccato breaths. “Ah?” he says eloquently, long fingers absently tangling in Qrow’s shirt, and Qrow mentally gives himself a high-five for basically rendering Oz, the great and powerful word smith, oh he of the silver tongue, speechless.

Choking back a snort with all the willpower he has left (and at this point, it’s like, zilch), Qrow nods and strokes his hands up and down Ozpin’s back. “Yeah,” he says, dropping his voice down an octave lower, feeling it rumble in his own chest more than he hears it. “Ozpin, I choose you.”

Despite himself his voice quivers with suppressed laughter on the last word, and Ozpin snaps back to himself. Huffing, he swats Qrow on the chest, though there’s no real heat behind it.

Qrow can’t help himself. He bursts out into a fresh round of cackles and snorts.

Ozpin pouts at him, jutting out his kiss-reddened bottom lip. “Really, Qrow,” he all but whines, pressing a fist against his lips to hide what Qrow is pretty damn sure is a smile.

Then, because Qrow just can’t help himself, he says, “Wanna see my Pokeballs, Oz? With those hands I bet you can handle ‘em real well.”

Clamping his lips together, Ozpin shakes his head fondly and turns away, playfully shoving Qrow’s shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

Qrow grins at the side of Ozpin’s still-flushed face, and then, because he just really, really can’t help himself, he adds, “Or, and this is just a shot in the dark here…I could show you my Gyarados.”

Ozpin jerks his head back around so fast it gives Qrow whiplash. “Really? You have one already? Oh, I’m so jealous, I’m still over two hundred candies —”

Smirking, Qrow grabs Ozpin’s hand and plants it firmly on the hard line of his clothed cock and the growing wet stain on the front of his pants.

Ozpin’s eyes go comically wide, and his mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’ as Qrow’s meaning sinks in. More pink floods his cheeks as he slides his hands up Qrow’s sides to cup the back of his neck, warm fingers curling in the short wispy hairs at his nape.

All of Qrow’s mischievous glee just fucking evaporates at the way that gentle touch pulses through him, sets him on fire all over again, and fuck, he hopes Oz says —

“Y-yes,” Ozpin stammers, biting his swollen red lip as he leans closer to Qrow, bringing their bodies flush, and the sweet friction of Ozpin’s answering hardness brushing against Qrow’s aching cock has him leaking an embarrassing amount of precome into his pants. “I…would like that.” His chin tilts up as he stares back at Qrow, exposing the pale column of his throat.

“Great,” Qrow grits out, legs wobbling like jelly at how fucking perfect Oz is, and he really needs to move this somewhere more solid before he kills the mood by collapsing and dragging Ozpin down with him. Not that he couldn’t make it sexy if he tried, like oh I’m swooning for you or some shit, but the last place he wants to do this is the floor. The carpet is nice and all, as far as carpet goes, but it’s still carpet. His back and his knees would never forgive him.

Resisting the urge to kiss and lick down the expanse of Oz’s throat, Qrow forces himself to pull out of his embrace and take a few steps back. Oz blinks a question at him from beneath heavy eyelids, forehead creasing in a furrow. But before he can say anything, ask what’s going on or if something’s wrong, Qrow grabs the scarf again and tugs it as he walks backward toward the emerald green micro suede couch to the right of the desk. It’s the only concession to actual comfort in the entire damn office, and it’s only there because Qrow wanted someplace he could sprawl and just hang out and bug Oz while he does paperwork.

Ozpin’s brows arch and he lets out a little chuckle as he trots along after Qrow, all pliant and obedient and unresisting. “Oh my, this is quite…kinky,” he says, slowly running a finger back and forth along the taught length of the fabric. “I think I like it.”

Qrow grins back at him, glad to hear that Oz is enjoying this too. “That so?” he asks in a playful taunt as he sinks into the couch. Leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him, he tugs Ozpin down to straddle his hips, their erections brushing against each other again.

Ozpin gives a muffled little cry and he rocks his hips into Qrow’s, eyes falling shut as another flush colors his neck and face scarlet. His hands settle on Qrow’s shoulders with a light squeeze, then skim up and down his sides, caressing as they explore the familiar territory of his body.

Qrow’s breath catches in his throat and he groans long and low, the air rushing out of his lungs like someone punched him in the stomach. Even through their clothes Ozpin’s touch is a flood of sensation, engulfing him, surrounding him, drowning him.

Still holding onto the scarf like a collar, Qrow tugs Ozpin closer to capture his lips in another kiss and reaches around to cup one of Oz’s pert cheeks, fingers squeezing into the soft warm flesh. Fuck, Oz has a perfect ass, firm yet yielding, just the right size to fit in his hands. He’s done this so many times in the past few months, but he could never get tired of it. Never will get tired of it.

“You like being my good little pet?” he rasps, voice husky and rough, because this is damn hot and Oz seems happy enough to play along. “You do kinda remind me of a cat,” he adds musingly, mostly because it’s true — Oz is the epitome of slinky, feline grace — but also just to see his reaction.

Snorting, Oz lazily opens one eye and breaks the kiss, tongue darting out to lick his swollen pink lips. “Do I?” he drawls, hands kneading into Qrow’s shoulders just like a goddamn cat, fuck, Oz, way to crank it up to eleven. “I think you’ll find this kitty has claws.” With a bounce of his brows he shifts his weight and rakes his fingertips down Qrow’s chest hard enough that Qrow is sure he left a trail of red scratch marks on his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

Adrenaline shoots through him at the pleasure-pain of the sting, lighting up his veins. He sucks in a surprised breath, but before he can recover his control of the situation Ozpin leans in, pressing their swollen cocks even closer together, then nibbles kisses along Qrow’s jaw and licks the shell of his ear from top to bottom, finishing with a playful bite to the lobe. “Meow.”

Qrow fucking died at how hot that was, RIP him, his body just doesn’t realize it yet.

Ozpin’s breath is warm against the sensitive skin of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine that makes his entire body shake. Fuck, his cock twitches so hard he’s sure Oz can feel it through their pants.

Apparently he can, because Oz huffs out the smuggest laugh Qrow’s ever heard from him, and he can feel the self-satisfied smirk pressed against the skin of his neck. He’s tempted to shove the sassy bastard off his lap and onto his knees and nail him hard on the floor, future bodily aches and pains be damned. So fuckin’ tempted.

But that’s not the game they’re playing today.

Instead, he draws back the hand cupping Ozpin’s cheek and smacks it hard enough to make him yelp. “I don’t remember giving you permission to scratch me he,” he says conversationally, soothing his palm over the hurt for a moment or two before smacking him again, this time harder.

A choked moan escapes through Ozpin’s lips and he arches his back, giving Qrow better access to his ass, and shit, this worked out better than Qrow thought it would, yay him.

“You can’t — ah — tell a cat what to do,” Ozpin says, digging his fingers into Qrow’s shoulders as he lands another hit, this time to the other cheek.

Qrow hums noncommittally as he squeezes and caresses Ozpin’s abused ass, the taught fabric of his dress pants smooth beneath his hand. “Maybe not—” he skims his fingers up Ozpin’s back along his spine, just barely touching him, making him gasp and shudder. “—but if you decide to be good for me—” his fingertips dance and swirl along the back of Ozpin’s neck, drawing another gutted sound from his throat. “—I can make it worth your while.”

That said, Qrow grabs a handful of Ozpin’s soft, silver hair and tilts his head back, forcing him to arch his back even more and give Qrow better access to his torso. Low moans scud out Ozpin’s throat in a litany of _oh oh oh_ , and Qrow has to bite back a moan of his own as he admires the pale expanse of Ozpin’s exposed throat and the taut peaks of his nipples tenting the front of his green button down dress shirt.

Electric tingles dance over his heated skin and his lips burn with the desire to explore the lean body displayed before him, and like hell will he deny himself that pleasure. Leaning forward, Qrow laves Ozpin’s neck with his tongue, punctuating long sweeps with sharp little nips and soothing kisses that leave Ozpin a trembling, moaning mess on his lap. His fingers dig painfully into Qrow’s shoulders — Qrow doesn’t care, it just adds an extra edge to the pleasure — and he bucks his hips in earnest, sliding their cocks together faster and faster.

The warm, solid weight of Oz on his lap and the delicious heat friction of their dry humping has Qrow gushing even more precome in his already ruined pants. A familiar pulse of pleasure wells deep in his stomach and creeps to the base of his spine, but this is not how he wants to come, oh hell no.

He’s just getting started.

Releasing the scarf (for now), he settles his hands on Ozpin’s hips, urging him to stop his almost frantic movements. “Not yet,” he says against Ozpin’s skin, mouthing along his jaw and sucking on his pulse point.

Ozpin whimpers in frustration at that, fists clenching into Qrow’s shirt, but follows Qrow’s orders and with a final buck goes still.

Qrow is a little surprised he actually listened, but quickly rewards him for it with soft caresses to his sides and stomach. “That’s good, you’re being so good for me,” he murmurs as he kisses his way down Oz’s chest, then mouths along one of his pecs to suckle on the erect nub of a nipple through his shirt.

Oz keens low in his throat at that, hands reaching up to tangle in Qrow’s hair. “Qrow,” he gasps out, “please.”

Qrow decides he likes the sound of his sexy hot boss begging like this. He likes it an awful lot, more than he probably should, but hey, who gives a fuck. He shoves that useless thought aside and focuses his attention on the man coming undone on his lap.

“Please what?” he asks, partially to tease him some more, and partially because he doesn’t know what Oz wants him to do. Nosing his way across Oz’s narrow but well-defined chest, he bites down on the other nipple, rolling it gently between his teeth, then licks over it, leaving a wet stain on the front of Ozpin’s shirt. The pretty little sounds this wrings from him make Qrow wish he was wearing a cock ring, and he takes in deep, deliberate breaths to keep his orgasm at bay. Fuck. He hasn’t been a minute man since he was a teenager, but Oz is just so damn hot, so damn perfect, it’s threatening to throw him over early and spoil their fun.

“Please — ah — I - I need more,” Oz says around quick, shallow pants, making it that much harder for Qrow to restrain himself. “Touch me, please, under my shirt —” He thrusts his chest out as best as he can with his back still arched the way it is, shamelessly seeking more contact.

Qrow couldn’t deny him even if he wanted to. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” Releasing Ozpin’s hair, he fumbles with all the stupid fiddly buttons on the dress shirt as quickly as he can with his hands shaking like they are. He’d rather just rip the fucking thing off and toss it aside, letting the buttons scatter wherever, but something tells him Ozpin won’t like that very much.

The last button undone, he pries Oz’s hands off his shoulders so his arms hang at his sides and then slides the shirt off his shoulders to bunch at his elbows, revealing a thin white v-neck undershirt. Feeling like he’s unwrapping a present, a sexy, hot, Ozpin-shaped present, Qrow pushes the v-neck over Ozpin’s head to join the dress shirt, capturing his arms behind his back and leaving only the loosened scarf to splay across his naked chest. And ain’t that a pretty sight, dark green against creamy white. Licking his lips, he leans forward to lap at Ozpin’s exposed nipples, pale pink and silky soft as flower petals, the salt of his skin sweeter and more intoxicating than honeyed whiskey.

Ozpin’s head falls back with a smothered whine and he writhes under Qrow’s tongue, arms shifting restlessly like he’s trying to reach out for Qrow, but can’t. Something hot and dark shifts behind Qrow’s heart, and shit, he fuckin’ _loves_ this, loves having Ozpin bound and helpless and at his mercy. (Well, sort of. He could free himself if he really wanted to.) Wrapping one arm around Oz’s waist to hold him steady, Qrow locks the other hand on Ozpin’s hip hard enough it’s probably gonna leave a bruise and nibbles and licks along his collarbone, nosing the scarf out of his way —

Ooooh, wait —

That gives him an idea —

Still holding Oz in place — the way he’s still arching and writhing, he’s gonna end up in the floor real fast if Qrow doesn’t — he reaches up to cup the back of his head, thumb swiping across his cheekbone to get his attention.

Oz just turns his head and nuzzles into his wrist, brushing his lips against the sensitive skin there, tongue darting out to taste, and fuck fuck fuck Qrow can’t help the glottal choke that punches out his throat.

But hey, he’s trying to accomplish something here.

“Oz,” he says, finally getting Oz to look at him, amber eyes blown almost black with desire, mouth open and panting.

“Yes?” he asks, voice as rough and hoarse as Qrow’s.

Qrow swallows hard, heartbeat thrashing his chest like a death metal drumbeat. What if Oz doesn’t — no. No overthinking. Bad brain, go away.

Taking a breath, he trails his hands from Ozpin’s face to skim along his neck until he’s fingering the soft silk of the scarf. “What if…” He licks suddenly dry lips. “What if I used this to, uh, you know…tie your hands? Together?” His voice is a basically a squeak by the end of his question, not sure how Oz will take it; they’ve never tried anything like this in all the times they’ve messed around, and maybe he’s just overstepped some boundary.

Oz blinks once, face the same color as Qrow’s cape, then drops his gaze to his lap, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Qrow’s heart takes a kamikaze dive into his stomach, and he ducks his own head to contemplate his own navel. Shit. Mood killed, moment ruined. Way to go, Branwen. No really, fucking bravo. It’s been fun and all, best partner he’s ever had, so of course he had to go and fu—

“Yes.”

It’s so soft he almost misses it through the thundering sounds of his own self-loathing.

Qrow’s head shoots up so fast his neck cracks. “What?” he says, pulse lurching into overdrive, positive he misheard that, but what if —?

Oz squirms on his lap, still not looking him in the eye, face so red it looks like touching his skin will burn Qrow’s fingers. He does it anyway, hooking a finger under Ozpin’s chin and gently raising it, coaxing him to meet his gaze. “You really want to?” he asks, searching Ozpin’s face to make sure he does, and he’s not just humoring Qrow, or, worse, doing it to please him even if it makes Oz himself uncomfortable. “Like, you absolutely, one-hundred percent want —”

“Yes.” Oz does look him in the eye now, and holy shit his eyes are so dark Qrow can barely see the irises. It sends ripples of tingling pleasure coursing from his chest to his groin, balls tightening as his flagging erection swiftly returns to full mast.

“You know better than anyone that I, ah, have…issues with control,” Oz says, mouth twisting into a self-deprecating smile —

Qrow snorts at that, because fucking understatement —

“—but I…I trust you, Qrow. And it - well. It seems fun. And _very_ kinky.” This time the smile he flashes Qrow is genuine, his eyes soft and shining as they crinkle at the edges. Something hot flutters in Qrow’s stomach, and if his pulse doesn’t slow down his heart’s gonna explode out of his chest and really kill the mood good and dead.

And, y’know, himself.

“But I will only let you tie me up on one condition,” Oz is saying, somehow managing to look stern and dignified with his arms tangled up in his shirts and his legs splayed wide over Qrow’s lap, cock straining against his pants, and oh yeah Qrow really needs to get him out of those.

But first things first. “Anything,” he promises, nodding so fast his head wobbles like one of those bobble head things. Whatever Oz wants, he’ll get, as long as Qrow is physically able to give it to him.

Oz leans forward, practically nose to nose with him, and stares at him over the rims of his glasses, gaze so hot Qrow’s about to combust. “I want you to fuck me over my desk.”

Qrow couldn’t stop the gutted groan that rips through his chest and out of his throat even if he tried.

fuck Fuck FUCK

Qrow can do that, he can so do that —

To prove how much he can so fucking do that, he surges to his feet, pulling Oz into a rough kiss that’s more teeth than lips or tongue, and walks him backward until the backs of Oz’s thighs hit the far edge of the desk and force him into a sit on top of it. Biting and sucking on his lips, Qrow shoves the bunched fabric down Ozpin’s arms and flings the shirts away, then breaks the kiss to bend down, hook his arms behind Oz’s knees, and tug them out to make him lie back.

Oz hits the desk with a soft “oof,” legs splaying around Qrow’s hips, wrists resting beside his head, chest and taut stomach heaving around full-bodied pants.

An electric thrill races through him as Qrow takes a moment to drink in the sight of the usually well put-together headmaster looking so wrecked, well on his way to completely debauched, and all because of Qrow.

“Well?” Ozpin says from beneath him. Plucking off his glasses, he tosses them lightly onto the chair — turns out that’s where the shirts ended up, awesome — and stretches his arms over his head, crossing his wrists and waggling those long slender fingers, one corner of his mouth curved up in a smirk. “Don’t you want me at your mercy?”

Fuck, this sassy little shit — Qrow’s gonna — nngh —

Growling low and feral in his chest, he grabs Oz’s slender hips in a bruising grip and flips him over onto his stomach, ass slightly in the air because he’s so damn tall. Oz cries out in surprise at the rough manhandling, but Qrow ignores him in favor of pulling and tugging at the scarf with shaking, fumbling fingers until he finally untangles it. Somehow he has the presence of mind to pry off the cross pin and tuck it in his own pocket for safe keeping. That done, he yanks Ozpin’s arms behind his back, pinning his wrists in place as he binds them with the green fabric. Once he’s wound the scarf around them enough times, he ties a knot loose enough that it won’t cut off Oz’s circulation, but tight enough that Oz can’t escape without his help.

Beneath him Oz turns his head to the side to get comfy and tugs experimentally at his bonds, visibly shuddering when they don’t give much at all. “Oh,” he moans, long and loud, breath fogging up the glass surface. “Oh, Qrow, that, that feels…so lovely.”

A throb of pleasure wells deep in Qrow’s stomach and pushes another bead of precome out the slit of his painfully hard cock, which is basically screaming at him to bury it in the tight, willing body splayed out before him. “Yeah?” Qrow runs a hand down Ozpin’s naked torso, hooking his fingers in his belt and skimming his fingertips along the warm cleft of his ass beneath the waistband of his boxers. “You ready for more?”

Qrow sure hopes so. He’s so ready his balls are turning blue and his cock’s about to explode.

Oz shudders again, hips bucking back into Qrow’s touch. “Please,” he gasps out, breath hitching as his eyes flutter shut, and that’s all the permission Qrow needs.

Planting one hand between Ozpin’s shoulder blades, Qrow shoves him down and pins him in place. “Stay,” he grits out. After Ozpin nods, he runs his hands up and down Oz’s thighs, reveling in the feel of hard muscle under soft fabric, then reaches around and undoes his belt, unzips his pants, and pushes both pants and boxers down to pool at his ankles.

Which is about the time Qrow realizes Oz still has his shoes on, shit, he should have realized that earlier.

But hey, he can work this to his advantage, seeing as how he also still needs to get the lube Oz keeps in the back of the top desk drawer like the naughty little shit he is.

Pus, Qrow is real good with his tongue. Or so he’s been told.

And Oz really does have a great ass.

Smirking, Qrow smacks one pert cheek just to hear Oz yelp and moan again (and to to see his own hand print reddening the flesh, because yesssss), then sinks to one knee behind him and makes quick work of Oz’s shoes and socks. Tossing them aside, he helps Oz step out of his pants and boxers and then flings those out of his way too, and now Oz is completely bare before him, all long lean muscle and pale skin flushed with need.

Qrow’s lower stomach goes tight at the sight, tingles shivering up through his chest to thrill down his spine and settle low in his gut. Reaching back up, he squeezes and kneads Oz’s cheeks for a few seconds before spreading them nice and wide, stretching the dusky pink furl of his entrance until it’s almost smooth.

Oz’s leg muscles tighten. “Q-Qrow…?” his voice drifts down from above, and haaaah this is something else they haven’t technically tried together, isn’t it. Two for two, Qrow’s just hitting home runs over here.

“You’ll like this,” he says. “Promise,” and then, because there’s always the possibility that Oz won’t actually like it, he adds, “And if you don’t, feel free to kick me in the face.”

With that he gets his tongue nice and wet and licks the flat of it over Oz’s tight hot hole.

“I wouldn’t dream o - OH!” Oz screams so loudly that anyone walking below the clock tower probably heard him, body melting on the desk like a bowl of ice cream in summer.

Oh yeah, that’s what he wants to see. Qrow mentally pumps a fist at having guessed right, swirling his tongue round and around the rim, then flicking it like a tiny whip against the center. The taste of him, salt and sweat and heat, mixed with the heady scent of his arousal has Qrow’s head spinning and fuck, if he keeps this up for too long he won’t be able to keep it up for the grand finale.

Above him Oz devolves into wordless moans, hips thrusting back against Qrow’s tongue as his body trembles and writhes on the desk, precome dribbling slow and thick from his cock and onto the carpet like drops of honey.

And that gives Qrow another idea.

Still licking and occasionally sucking at the tight ring of muscle, he reaches around Oz and takes his thick length in hand, squeezing the base in a pulsing motion and then dragging his hand along the shaft to curl his palm over the sensitive head. Once his hand is nice and wet, he starts pumping Oz in long, slow strokes in time with the swirl of and prod his tongue, even as his own neglected cock aches and throbs painfully with need.

“Qrow,” Oz moans, downright sobbing by now, and fuck, Qrow will never get tired of hearing his name in that tone of voice. “Qrow, please, I - I need you - inside — please —”

Qrow doesn’t need to be asked twice.

With a final lick over Ozpin’s spit-slick hole and a squeeze to his cock, he pushes himself to his feet, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve as he rises, and leans over Oz’s back to pull open the top desk drawer and grope around for the bottle of lube. Once he finds it, he slams the drawer shut and works his own belt one-handed until he can push his pants — no boxers, heh — down low enough to free his cock. It’s painfully hard and red and fucking dripping, and he is so ready for this next part.

Popping the cap, he coats his fingers and pushes one right into Oz, too impatient to go nice and slow, one knuckle at a time, the way he usually does. Oz whimpers and moans desperately, hips canting back to impale himself on Qrow’s finger. He cries out even louder when Qrow twists it and thrusts it in deeper and crooks it upward to massage his sweet spot, legs shaking and trembling with pleasure, his flushed skin damp with a thin sheen of sweat.

“That’s - that’s enough,” he gasps out when Qrow tries to add a second finger. “I’m ready, please, I need you.”

“You sure?” Qrow rasps. As much as he wants to just take Oz, right here, right now, the last thing he wants to do is hurt him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Oz whines, fingers alternately splaying in the air and clenching into fists, and Qrow decides to take his word for it.

Gently pulling out his finger and wiping it absently on his pants, he coats his own length liberally in lube, nudges the head against Oz’s entrance, and sheathes himself to the hilt with one slow, careful roll of his hips.

A wrecked cry spills from Ozpin’s lips, the tight, velvet heat of his walls clenching around Qrow, and he almost comes right then and there.

Taking a deep breath to control himself, he drapes himself over Ozpin’s back and kisses and nibbles his way up from his shoulders to the base of his neck, soothing his palms along Oz’s sides. Oz squirms and whimpers beneath him, skin so hot with need it’s practically burning Qrow hands and his chest through his shirt.

“You ready?” he asks, because even now, even when it’s about to kill him, he has to know for sure.

Oz just sobs and grinds his ass against Qrow’s hips, taking his cock further inside his body, and if that’s not a ‘fuck yes, fuck me now you idiot,’ Qrow doesn’t know what is.

Hands anchored firmly on Ozpin’s waist, Qrow pulls out until just the head is still inside, stretching Oz’s hole obscenely wide, then slams forward in a brutal thrust, hips slapping against Oz’s ass.

Then he does it again, and again, and again, and —

Oz screams and trembles beneath him, around him, and Qrow kind of hopes someone is down there at the base of the tower, so they can hear the noises the headmaster of Beacon makes while an ex-bandit fucks his ass raw. So they know that Oz belongs to him, and only to him.

Growling, he latches his mouth between the juncture of Ozpin’s neck and shoulder and sucks a kiss there, sucks and sucks and sucks until the skin is red and purpled and bruising with his claim, never once slowing the snap of his cock into that wet heat.

Oz gasps out a filthy sob mangled with a string of curses, spreading his legs even wider for Qrow, meeting every thrust with the increasingly erratic cant of his hips.

Heat washes over Qrow like a fever, and fuck oh fuck he’s close —

Squeezing Ozpin’s waist, he hauls him upright so his back is flush to Qrow’s chest, or as flush as it can get with his wrists still bound behind him, leaving behind a sweaty imprint of Oz’s front on the desktop. With one arm wrapped around him like a vice, hand splaying possessively over Oz’s heaving chest, Qrow grabs his chin and urges him to twist his head to the side for a kiss.

When he obeys, lips parted in open mouthed pants, it’s so easy for Qrow to sweep the tip of his tongue over Oz’s lower lip and then claim his mouth in a searing kiss. The new angle lets Qrow slam into his prostate on almost every thrust, and he drinks down Oz’s moans and cries of pleasure like they’re pure spring water and he’s a dying man lost in the desert.

Once he’s sure Oz won’t pull away, he lets go of his chin and grabs his cock instead, slick with precome and the sweat of his arousal, and strokes him hard and fast. Oz whimpers into his mouth, back arching violently against his chest, and with one stroke, another, three, he spills hot warmth over Qrow’s hand as his muscles clench around him, milking his cock.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh FUCK

Heat coils at the base of Qrow’s spine and his balls tense, tight and full, and he knows he’s about to go over.

Oz breaks the kiss, his head tipping back onto Qrow’s shoulder in a silent groan, legs shaking so hard Qrow is half holding him up. Then he blinks heavy-lidded amber eyes up at Qrow, lashes fluttering as he licks his swollen red lips, and Qrow fucking explodes as molten pleasure surges through him. Eyes rolling back in his head, he spills into Ozpin’s clenching heat, filling him, pumping his hips until his balls are empty, until the unbearable heat in his groin fades, and his limp cock slips from Oz’s hole, his come dribbling down the insides of his thighs.

By the time he’s done his legs can’t hold both him and Oz up anymore, and they half sink, half collapse to the floor in a pile of weak, sweaty limbs, panting harshly. Oz ends up on top of him, making it harder for Qrow to catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind, threading his fingers through damp silver hair and swiping away the sheen of sweat with the pad of his thumb. “Fuck, Oz. That was…that was…fuck.”

Oz laughs tiredly against his chest. “Yes, that was quite good, wasn’t it?”

Qrow harrumphs. “It’s not fair that you can, that you can…word after that,” he gripes, waving a hand around before letting it flop back at his side.

“It’s not fair that you’re completely dressed, and I’m not.”

Oh yeah, Qrow never actually took off his clothes, huh? Oh well, too late to be sorry about that. Not that he is, not even a little. “Oh c’mon. That was all, y’know, part of the fun.”

“The fun of having me as your little pet?” Oz asks, arching a brow at him. He tucks his chin like he does when he’s trying to stare Qrow down over the rims of his glasses, but it doesn’t have the same effect when he doesn’t have them on. Yay for that, Qrow is too tired to be horny.

“You liked it,” he says, also too tired to deny that manhandling Oz and using his scarf like a collar, or a leash, wasn’t fucking hot as hell. He drags his fingernails across Oz’s scalp, earning a soft hum of approval.

“While that is certainly true, I would appreciate having my arms back,” Ozpin says, lifting his shoulders and letting them fall for emphasis.

Oh shit, right. The scarf. He was just thinking about that.

Pushing Oz off his chest he groans himself into a sit, joints creaking and cracking to protest the move from horizontal to vertical, then twirls a finger in the air for Oz to turn his back to him.

Oz just blinks and arches his other brow at him, and okay, fair, it’s technically easier for Qrow to move than it is for Oz.

Sighing, Qrow shuffles on his knees until he’s behind Oz again, spent dick flopping against his pants, and he should probably put that away at some point. He plucks at the knot, tugging here and there until it comes loose and he’s able to unravel the scarf from around Ozpin’s wrists. The skin beneath is a little splotchy and temporarily tattooed with the pattern of the fabric, but no signs of damage. Everything looks good.

“Mmm. Thank you,” Oz hums, pulling his arms in front of him to rub at his wrists and roll his shoulders.

Qrow tosses the scarf on top of the crumpled pile of Ozpin’s pants and underwear. “No problem.” And then, because he’s halfway up anyway, he grabs onto the edge of the desk and hoists himself to his feet. “Wanna move this to the couch?” he asks, jerking his thumb in that direction.

Ozpin nods. “A good idea, though I may need some help getting up.” He tilts his head to indicate his bad leg, and Qrow feels like a dumbass for not assuming that sooner.

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

Tucking his dick back into his pants and zipping them up first, he slots his hands under Ozpin’s arms and, thanks to all that muscle he’s built up from swinging Harbinger around, manages to pull him halfway to his feet.

So sue him, he’s still tired and wrung out from the best orgasm he’s had all week.

“Perhaps if you just deposited me on the couch,” Ozpin suggests from where his face is pressed into Qrow’s stomach, breath tickling the exposed strip of skin between his rumpled, rucked up shirt and his pants.

“Uh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.” Still gripping his underarms, Qrow half-drags, half-walks Oz to the couch and, fifty million years later, plonks his pert, perfect ass onto it.

Oz settles against the throw pillows and stretches out his legs with a little sigh of relief, kneading and massaging the muscles of his bad leg. “Thank you,” he says, smiling up at Qrow.

“No problem.” Qrow still feels bad for not realizing Ozpin was probably in pain after all…that, so as a consolation he prize he retrieves Ozpin’s hot chocolate from the desk and hands it to him. By now it’s technically cold chocolate, and so probably a real shitty consolation prize, but it’s all he’s got.

“Ah! Thank you,” Oz says, wrapping his hands around the mug and immediately taking a sip. He doesn’t seem to mind that it isn’t anywhere near hot anymore, which Qrow counts as win. Then he notices for the first time that Ozpin’s hips and lower stomach are red and bruised and indented from being pounded into the edge of the desk, and he feels bad all over again. Chest tight, he tucks his hands into his pockets and slouches, wishing he had paid more attention to Oz’s comfort instead of his own pleasure. Some boyfriend he is, and oh look, another thing he decided all on his own without asking Oz’s opinion. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Won’t you join me?” Ozpin asks, breaking Qrow out of his dark thoughts like the bright little ray of sunshine he is. He pats the couch cushion beside him, and Qrow obediently sits. Oz immediately cuddles up next to him, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, legs tangling loosely together in front of them. It puts Qrow in prime viewing position of the hickey he’d sucked onto Oz’s neck while his all his primal instincts chanted _mine mine mine_. His primal instincts are still chanting _mine mine mine_ , though in a satisfied kind of way now, like a purring cat after a nice meal, and yeah, they need to have a talk before Qrow tumbles headlong into one-sided, unrequited commitment.

Oz’s hand lands on his leg, thumb stroking soothingly up and down. “Is something wrong?” he asks, eyebrows drawing together.

Qrow sighs and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. Might as well rip the bandage off and get this over with. “No, not really. There’s just something I wanted to —”

DING

Glynda steps out of the elevator, arms full of file folders. “Headmaster, have you finished —” She lurches to a halt when she finally notices them on the couch, eyes bugging out behind her glasses. Her gaze darts from them to the pile of clothes on the floor, to the desk — how the hell does she just _know_ that — and back to them again, mouth open and flapping soundlessly like a goldfish.

Beside him Oz makes a mortified noise of distress and drags one of the throw pillows over his lap, curling into himself and studying the contents of his mug like it holds the answers to Salem’s defeat.

Qrow angles his body to try and give Oz some modesty, since it’s technically his fault Oz is naked right now. And it’s just the right thing to do.

Glynda’s gaze snaps onto him, her grip on the folders so strong they’re almost bent in half across the middle.

Qrow lifts his chin and meets her gaze head on, daring her to say something.

Glynda stares at Qrow.

Qrow stares at Glynda.

Glynda sniffs and shoves her glasses up her nose. “At least be sure to clean up after yourselves,” she says, then turns smartly on her heel and punches the elevator button. The doors slide shut on the rigid line of her back, and she’s gone.

Qrow watches the doors for a moment longer, half sure she’s gonna change her mind and come back and rip them both a new one for ‘fornicating in a public space, that’s against at least fifty rules and regulations’ or something. When the doors stay closed, and he’s sure she’s gone (probably to go wash her eyes out with bleach), he slumps back against the couch and flings his arms over the back. “So. That happened.”

“I’m afraid so,” Oz says, still hunched over his mug and the pillow on his lap, cheeks tinged pink yet again. Then he sits up straighter, shoulders going back, and manages to look Qrow square in the nostrils. “Anyway. You, ah, wanted to say something?”

Qrow considers his options for a moment. This would be the perfect opportunity to shrug it off, say it was nothing. If Oz doesn’t feel the same way, if this thing between them is just a way for him to blow off steam and frustration and scratch an otherwise unscratchable itch, confessing how he really feels will cost Qrow everything.

He really, really doesn’t want to lose this.

Then again, if Oz does feel the same way, he gains everything.

“Qrow?”

Fuck it, he’s going in.

“So,” he says, reaching his arms in an exaggerated stretch over his head and twisting his back so Oz can’t see how nervous he is, “how would you feel about maybe making this thing we’ve got official?” He lets one arm fall back along the couch and wraps the other around Oz’s shoulders all smooth and suave-like, thumb tracing little circles on his bare bicep.

His heartbeat is currently in the stratosphere.

Oz glances at the hand curling around him, then turns to face Qrow again.

For the span of a breath Qrow’s sure Oz is going to push him away, announce that no, he doesn’t want to make this official, this was simply a matter of convenience, you’ve ruined everything, goodbye Qrow.

But when Oz finally faces him his eyes are sparkling, his cheeks are glowing, and the smile splitting his face in half is brighter than the sun. “I would like that,” he says in a voice as soft and silky as his scarf. Then he leans in to brush his lips across Qrow’s in a kiss just as soft, so soft it almost breaks him, and cups a hand behind Qrow’s head, bringing their foreheads together. “I would like that very much.”

Warmth radiates through Qrow’s chest, making him feel all light and tingly. Oz wants him too! And isn’t that something. Qrow’s not the type of guy most people would choose given any kind of options, but hey, if Oz is crazy enough to give this thing a shot, an actual official shot, then so is he.

And as he curls into Oz, gathering him into his arms for another kiss, he’s can’t help but feel sure this thing might work out.

Maybe.

Probably.

Definitely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! <3
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr for more Ozpin and Cloqwork stuff @coffee-queen448!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Also, I am more than willing to chop this behemoth story into additional chapters, but I need more silly Pokemon battle puns for the chapter titles. If you have suggestions, let me know! :)
> 
> ~
> 
> For more Ozpin and Cloqwork content, check out my Tumblr @coffee-queen448! <3


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